


Just Another Passer-By

by consultingangelinthetardis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Bullying, F/M, Gang Violence, Homophobia, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingangelinthetardis/pseuds/consultingangelinthetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester strives to be the popular kid at Truman High, but at the same time, he knows that it will not be long before he and his brother have to change schools again. When he realises his brother has made a friend in Truman High he does not want to leave behind, Dean reminds him that he should not have done that. However, after listening to the wise words of his little brother, Dean comes across a boy who loves to draw during a visit to a town park, and realises that perhaps that boy is more than just another passer-by in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Destiel fic and I am hoping that it turns out well. I have a nice plan in mind and I will try to upload whenever I can. Do enjoy reading and comment on how you find it.

It was a bright, sunny morning, just like any other day and everyone was happy because it was the last day of school for the term.  Dean Winchester, with his hands in his jeans pockets walked by a few couples sharing a last few kisses and two students with books in their hands rushing to the library to return anything they have borrowed before everyone made their way home. He craned his neck to look for Amanda but to no avail. Dean pursed his lips and whistled to the tune of an old rock song his father used to listen to and stopped right outside a classroom from which students were streaming out with smiles on their faces and a packet of fancy stationery in their hands, blue for the boys and pink for the girls. “Oh hello Dean!” a boy with dark hair and glasses waved at him and Dean waved back, smiling, having not a clue who he was. _I guess Sam had been telling his friends about me,_ he thought to himself, _what a cute little brother I have._ “Hey you,” he called out after the bespectacled boy. “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s inside, talking to Ms. Harvelle. He is her favourite student.”

“Okay,” Dean nodded, “Cool. Thanks, er…”

“Barry.” The boy smiled.

“Okay, Barry.  See you.”

With that, the boy walked away and Dean noticed how he seemed to be afraid of everyone around him. “Hey,” he called out to a boy who bumped into Barry, knocking down the books he was carrying, “watch where you’re going!”

The boy looked at him with shock in his face and ran away before Dean walked over to Barry and helped him pick up his books. “Hey kid, do let me know if anything happens, okay? I guess you’re a good friend of Sammy’s.”

The boy nodded nervously and whisked away towards the library after thanking Dean. Just as he was about to turn around to get back to Sam’s classroom, his brother walked out its door, accompanied by a woman who looked about his father’s age whom he assumed to be Ms. Harvelle.

“Oh,” she said as soon as she saw him, “you must be Dean Winchester! Sam told me a lot about you.”

“Well,” Dean smiled, “I don’t think I really am anything much, really…”

Ms. Harvelle smiled at him and continued. “In case you are looking for feedback about your brother, I have nothing but good things to say about him. Sam is a really good boy with plenty of potential. He is also very kind and people in the class seem to like him.”

“Oh,” Dean nodded, “thank you very much Ms. Harvelle.”

“Okay,” Ms. Harvelle patted Sam on his back, “I will make my move now. Take care of yourself and I would love to see you again next term!” Dean waved at her again as she walked out of the school and turned to face his brother. “So,” he said, “teacher’s pet, huh?”

“Stop it, Dean. It is nothi-“ Sam started but Dean stopped him by ruffling his brother’s hair. “Nothing to be ashamed of, little bro,” he said, “after all, I don’t know how much longer we are going to stay here.”

“Dean,” Sam stopped walking and looked at his brother in the face, “I am so sick and tired of moving around. Can’t we just stay at one school? How many times do I need to introduce myself again?”

Dean bent down and nodded at his brother. “Look, Sam. I know that you are the good kid in school and the teachers end up loving you. But, we can never stay here for long. Understand? We’re nomads. Sort of. I can’t help it. Dad can’t help it. No one can.”

“Why? I don’t understand, why do we have to keep moving?” Dean could see that his brother’s eyes were welling up. “I like Truman High. I don’t want to move. I-“

“Sam,” Dean heaved a sigh, “just get in the car.” He held the door of the Impala open as his brother reluctantly crawled in. “Who knows? You might be coming back next term.”

“You sure?” Sam’s voice was soft and questioning.

Dean gripped the wheel his car and exhaled.  “We _might._ Dad hasn’t called me yet, so we may not have to move for a while. But,” he looked at his brother, “don’t get your hopes too high. I really don’t know what is going to happen next. Dad might call up any minute and we’ll have to leave again.”

“Dean…”

Dean laughed and turned on the engine of his car. “Why are you so reluctant to leave? You never acted like this before. Why, Sammy?” he asked, “What did Truman High put into your head? Why do you want to stay here so bad, why? I know people have been treating you badly, Sammy. So, why don’t you want to get the hell out of here? We have nothing, Sam. Ever since Mum died that day, Dad has never been the same. We lost everything and we have to start from scratch. We have nothing. We cannot afford to get close to anybody because we will have to leave, eventually. I know you have friends, Sammy, and I know your teachers love you and I want nothing but to see you happy. But I can’t,” Dean stopped when he felt a bitterness rising to his throat. _No,_ he told himself, _you must not get emotional now._ Dean cleared his throat before continuing, “Look, here, Sammy. I love you. Dad loves you. I want nothing but the best for you. That’s why we keep enrolling in schools even though I don’t give a crap. I don’t matter anymore. I don’t give a damn about anything anymore. It is all about you, Sammy. I want you to get into a college and do what you want to do. I want you to be happy.” Dean bit his lip and drove down the winding road that led to the motel they were staying in for that night.

They walked together in silence towards the entrance of the motel, Dean holding on to Sam’s backpack when he realised that his brother was getting sleepy.  Their room was on the second floor and there was no elevator serving any of the four floors. Dean ensured that his brother walked up the stairs without stumbling. He look at the back of the boy’s head and smiled as he thought of the future, where Sam was a college graduate, and he was, well, just in a decent job that paid him enough to get his brother through his degree. Sam was everything to his father. Sam was the son John Winchester loved and always will love. Sam was the smart one and the one capable of everything. He, Dean Winchester was nothing at all compared to his brother. He was just the one who had to work in the background with his father. Yes, he did not have much of a future, but he was willing to sacrifice everything for Sam. Even his life.

Just before Dean was about to turn out the lights for the night and throw the sheets over his face so that he can forget all the worries that were flooding his mind and threatening to murder his sanity, Sam called out his name.

“Dean?”

“Yes,” Dean smiled, “what do you want, Sammy?”

“Dean? Can I ask you something?”

Dean shrugged. “Go ahead, Sammy.”

“Do you have any friends in school?”

Dean chuckled. “No, Sammy, I don’t think I do.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Dean was stumped for a few moments. “Er… No… I… don’t.” _Why was Sam asking such questions?_

“You know something Dean?”

Dean exhaled. “What, Sammy? Just get to sleep. I’m tired and  I have plans for us tomorrow.”

“Dean.” Sam sat up on his bed and Dean was obliged to do the same.

“What is it, Sammy? What’s bothering you?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing, Dean. This is about you.”

Dean’s brows furrowed and he was at a loss for words. “Me? What… Why?”

“I have friends in school, Dean.  Well, at least one friend and I think he trusts me.”

Dean nodded. “Do you trust him? You know what I said about trusting people, right?”

“No. I mean yes, Dean, I do.” Sam scratched the top of his head as he always did when he was making an important point. Dean liked how adorable he looked whenever he did that and could not stop himself from smiling. Sam took offence at that. “Not funny, Dean, I am talking about something important here.”

“Yes,” Dean smiled, “sorry, go on.”

“I have a friend I love in school, Dean, and teachers who make me feel important in school. Barry and Ms. Harvelle make me feel I have something to school for. I think,” Sam pursed his lips, “that’s what’s important. I think it’s really the people we meet in places such as school and form relationships with who make us feel wanted. No man is an island, Dean, and I know that you’re very much capable of making friends just like I do. I don’t have too many friends, it’s just Barry but I think you understand what I mean. If you allow yourself to trust the people around you and…” Sam paused here to find the right words to say, “and open up to them, maybe, uh, you’ll find that life is much more meaningful. That way, you’ll understand why I want to stay in Truman High so bad. Maybe, Dean, maybe it’s time you told yourself that you’re a person capable of love. If you have someone you can call a friend in school, maybe you’ll be able to understand why I want to go back so bad. It’s not a bad thing, Dean. It’s in fact, a good thing.”

Dean found himself licking his lower lips as he did when he was lost in thought. Sam was partially right, but was he so sure he was willing to let go of that shell he was hiding himself in? Was he really willing to share his burdens with anyone other than his family? He knew he had responsibilities and he knew that he had to make sacrifices in order to carry them out. He knew that he was not yet ready to share the responsibility with everyone else because he felt that it will not be fair on the other person. But, a voice inside told him, he was a young man who has yet to experience the world. Boys his age in his school were already going steady with their girlfriends and although he did try to make something happen with Amanda Heckerling, but nothing came out of it but pain and disappointment. _Perhaps Sam was right, perhaps it was about time he allowed himself a little bit of room to grow and explore the world._ He saw that Sam was staring at him and nodded, “Yes, Sammy, you’re right. But right now, Truman High is nothing to me. Let’s just see how things go, okay? Now, get to sleep, Sammy and I promise you that we… well, at least you’ll go back to Truman High next term. I’ll talk to Dad. It’s a promise.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam smiled.

“Good night, Sammy.”

“Good night.”

That night, Sam’s words repeated in Dean’s head. _If you allow yourself to trust the people around you and open up to them, maybe you’ll find that life is much more meaningful. Maybe, Dean, maybe it’s time you told yourself that you’re a person capable of love._ “I love you, Sammy. I don’t know if I can love anyone else.” He whispered to his sleeping brother, though he knew that he was already fast asleep.  Dean smiled and allowed himself to drift away into the darkness that was sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam visit the town park on the first day of the summer holidays, and Dean chances upon a quiet boy who likes to draw.

Dean was the first one to wake up the next morning because he could not bring himself to sleep too well last night. Sam’s words continued to echo in his head until the dead of night and the buzzing in his brain diminished any hope he had of sleeping that night. It was not as if Dean never had late nights before, he often slept hours past midnight especially on nights his father was out, but this was different. On any other night, his mind was still busy but it was the usual worries about Sam’s somewhat better future and his own probably doomed one. It did not matter anyway, because he knew that everything he was doing was for Sam and not for himself. But that night, he was thinking of other things. He had a dream because he was thinking of his own life, his own future where he was sitting with the popular kids in school and laughing at a shared joke. He imagined himself with his arms around a beautiful girl, much more beautiful than Amanda, and she was running her hands through his hair. He recalled how he looked so happy in his dream and how every tinge of worry had disappeared from his face. In his dream, he was Dean Winchester, the handsome cool kid all the girls wanted to get to know. He was loved by all and he wished to be nowhere but in school. He would have stayed in school all day if he could.

It was all quite strange to Dean, because even though he would love to live life the way he saw in his dream, he knew it was impossible. Though what Sam told him last night was not wrong, Dean thought that it will be very unwise of him to let go of everything he was trying so hard to keep within, because, he never knew if he would ever be able to leave everything behind when he needed to. If he was to make himself feel too comfortable in Truman High and allow himself to explore life as would any other eighteen year old,  he was not very confident he will be able to let go of the new life he would have loved for something he had always loathed. Life had never been a pleasant ride for Dean Winchester, not since his mother had died that night.

He was but a five year old then and he did not understand his father when he explained to him that his mother had been ill for a long time. For Dean, it all happened very suddenly, one night, his mother was alive and seemingly well, and the next morning, she never woke up from her sleep. Dean had slept by her side that night because he was growing a bit jealous of the attention his year old little brother was receiving from his parents. He held her hand in his when he fell asleep and woke up the next morning to realise that his mother’s hand was suddenly quite cold. He did not understand what the matter was and tried to wake his mother up, but she would not respond. He touched her cheeks and they too, were cold. Dean was confused and ran to his father’s room, knocking on the door frantically and calling his name a few times before he opened the door. “Good morning, Dean.” John Winchester was rubbing away any sleep that remained in his eyes and followed a panicking Dean to Mary’s room. Dean watched his father bend over his mother and check her pulse before he grabbed Sam out of his cot and handed him over to Dean. “Go,” he had said, “take your brother with you and wait outside. I… I need to get some things done.”

A few minutes later, Dean saw an ambulance park itself outside their home and his father announced to him that he could never see his mother again because she had gone over to the other world’, as he called it. John Winchester did not believe in an afterlife, and neither did Dean, though Dean wanted to believe that his mother was at a better place, or at least at peace. Dean, now eighteen years of age, had watched his father deteriorate day by day after his mother’s death to the point that he thought it really was up to him to ensure the survival of his family. Sure, his father was doing his best, travelling from place to place to try and start on some kind of business to ensure that there was enough income to meet the daily needs of the family, but it dawned upon Dean that he had never been able to live like a normal child. Everything he remembered from his childhood was him trying to look out for Sam and trying to help his father with the things he did. He could not recall his father treating him as a father ought to treat a son.  He had always looked at Dean as an equal, as something of a right hand man, but never a child, even though he was not even ten years old. But Sam, however, had always been the child in the family, and had always been Dean’s responsibility. It was not that he was complaining about it because he knew that it was not anyone’s fault that he had to be damned to live such a life, but for that one instant last night, during the span of that one dream, Dean was able to imagine the life he wanted to live so badly. Perhaps, Sam was right, perhaps it really was time he allow himself a little freedom in his life.

Just as he was about to take out the ready-to-eat meal from the microwave, Sam walked towards him, rubbing his eyes. Dean looked at him, smiling, “Hey, Sammy, how was your night?”

“Not too bad. Do you still remember everything I told you?”

Dean placed the still hot bowls of pasta on the table and propped himself up on it. “Yes, Sammy,” he nodded. “There,” he pushed one bowl of the microwaved pasta to his brother, “breakfast is served. Eat up and we’ve got a whole day to kill.”

Sam attacked the penne with his fork, and brought three to his mouth and slowly chewed, before stabbing at the pasta again. “Where are we going today, Dean?”

Dean, who was trying to force down the bland penne down his throat, shrugged. “Dunno. Your choice, Sammy.”

“Anything I want?”

“Yes.” Dean nodded, “Anywhere you want. As long as I don’t have pay a bazillion dollars.”

“Nah, Dean, there’ll be no need to pay.” Sam laughed, nearly choking on the tasteless pasta.

“What? Where do you wanna go? The town park?”

Sam gave up battling with the penne and looked at his brother, with those eyes he always did when he wanted something.

Dean’s mouth nearly fell open and he had to stop himself from laughing. “Seriously? The town park?”

Sam nodded.

Dean allowed himself to laugh. “Of _all_ the places we could go to, you wanna go to the park?”

“Yes,” Sam nodded again. “It’s my choice, remember? You said so yourself.”

Dean stood up and walked over to deposit the disposable container into the bin. “Yeah, your choice.  The park is a nice place to go, but… Well… nevermind. Okay, finish up the pasta and we’re off to the town park.”

Sam held out his container and smiled at his brother and Dean knew that he had to walk all the way from the bin to where Sam was seated to grab the container from him and throw it away for him. “Dean,” he said as he watched him walk to the bin, “Barry said he wanted to watch the birds in the park.”

“Oh,” Dean stopped, “you really are good friends with that kid, huh?”

Sam nodded. “Barry doesn’t exactly have too many friends at school. Everyone I see is so mean to him. He’s a good boy, really, but no one wants to be friends with him. I don’t know why. I think I’m the only friend he has. He told he likes animals and birdwatching is his hobby. Can we, Dean? Please?”

Dean walked over and ruffled his brother’s hair. “Sure. You’re a good boy, Sammy, I’m proud of you.”

Sam smiled and Dean proceeded to obtain a new set of clothes from the old suitcase he lugged along in his car because they ensured that they did not stay in a single motel for too long. “Okay,” Dean cracked his knuckles just before opening the door of the Impala, “let’s get moving.”

Dean turned on the music just as Sam stepped in to sit next to him. “Wanna jam to some Bon Jovi, Sammy?” Dean said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beats of the song he was listening to. “Come on Sammy, sing along! Not my personal favourite, but still, it’s Bon Jovi,” Dean spoke while bobbing his head to the rhythms of the guitars and drums blaring though the radio, “No one heard a single word you SAAAIIIDDD, they should have seen it in your EYYYEESSS! Come on Sammy, I’m sure you know the words! OOOOOHH SHE’S A LITTLE RUNAWAYYY!” Dean felt a sudden adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sang, engulfing every fibre of his being in strong euphoria. He could feel his heart beating with the rhythm of the drums and the music and his mind swimming with the notes and the words, and drowning in the wonder that was Bon Jovi. It might have been his father’s influence that had been carried forward into him, but Dean’s love for rock music was intense. At times, he imagined himself at concerts, running to the stage and playing the guitar right next to the great Richie Sambora himself. He knew that was the kind of life he would have been living if he was a normal teenager, surrounded by autographed posters of Bon Jovi and band shirts and other merchandise. Perhaps, he could have even picked up playing the guitar. Dean allowed his mind to wander during the few minutes the song lasted for he knew that music was his only escape, his only chance to allow himself to forget the life he was living and live the life of his dreams in his mind.  It did not matter that he was so horribly out of tune or that Sam was staring at him with judgemental eyes, all that mattered was that he managed to get his few minutes of complete freedom.

As the song ended, Dean turned down the radio and took a few deep breaths. “That….was….” he paused to catch his breath, “awesome. Bon Jovi rules. Well,” he shrugged, “sometimes, maybe. So…” He began to slow down the car, “we’re here at last. The glorious town park.”

“Shut up, Dean.”

“So,” said Dean as he shut the door of the car behind him, “where’s your little friend?”

“Er,” Sam craned his neck to look for Barry among the tropes of people in the park, where the lines were streaming in and out without any sign of slowing down. Dean had his hands in his jeans pockets and pursed his lips, surveying the entirety of the park. The birds in the park were either absent, or their voices were drowned out by the endless chatter and laughter of the people having picnics and playing tag.  There were couples seated on the benches, sharing a few intimate jokes and light kisses and at least four people with dogs. There was a boy around Dean’s age or younger, seated underneath a tree, his eyes focused on something he was sketching or writing on a piece of paper he had propped up on his knees. A few metres away from him was a family of five having a picnic, or least trying to with three screaming children running around. Dean tried to see if he could spot anyone familiar and sighed with relief when he realised that there were none. He was not really ready to run in to anyone from school, not just yet. “There he is!” Sam suddenly pulled at Dean’s sleeve. “Over there, by that tree.”

Sam waved at Barry and the boy waved back and they walked towards where he was standing. “Hello Sam!” The boy greeted before embracing Sam in a tight hug. “Thanks for coming! And you too, Dean! You are a wonderful big brother!”

“Well,” Dean smiled, “it’s Sam’s choice today so I had to follow.”

“Anyway, Sam,” Barry continued, “I don’t think it’s going to be easy spotting the bird I want to spot today… There are too many people…”

“Noisy people,” Sam corrected, “I don’t think birds mind many people but I’m pretty sure they mind noisy people.”

“So…” Barry looked slightly disappointed, “what shall we do?”

“We can just walk around. I’ve got potato chips in my car,” Dean offered, “stay here, don’t wander off. I’ll go get them.”

As Dean turned his back and walked towards his car, there was a sudden gust of wind that sent the fallen leaves on the ground into a kind of dancing frenzy. He saw a bird fly right past his face but he could not tell what it was; to Dean, any feathered animal was a bird, and that’s where he stopped. He did not have the time or interest to memorise the name of species, he had far too many much more important things in mind. Just as he was approaching his parked car, Dean nearly slipped on something he accidentally stepped on and felt his heart stop for a moment before he did a little jump to balance himself.

“Whew, that was close,” Dean told himself as he looked down at where he was standing a few moments earlier to see a piece of plain white paper with his shoe’s print on it. “ _You son of bitch_ ,” he cursed silently and picked up the paper to see a smudged sketch of a ballerina on the other side, and instantly felt guilty for damaging someone’s art work. It was a well-drawn ballerina, Dean guessed, although the features were smeared and the only sign that it had been a ballerina was the obvious shape of the skirt. Just then, he heard a voice behind him.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry… that belongs to me.” It was a voice of a boy, around his age and Dean turned around to see the boy he had seen earlier, who was busy with the pencil and paper under the tree. He was slightly shorter than Dean, of a slim build, with messy black hair and blue eyes. He was trying not to look at Dean, holding out his hand to retrieve the now messed up piece of paper Dean was holding, looking slightly embarrassed when he realised that Dean had looked at the drawing. Dean was confused but handed over the paper anyway. “Sorry ‘bout that, I wasn’t looking.”

“It’s okay,” the boy whispered as he took the paper from Dean and examined the damage, “I… I… can do something about it…. I…. I’m sorry….”

“It’s okay, I should be one who’s sorry. Wind’s too strong today, eh?”

A small smiled formed on the boy’s lips but he quickly pressed them together to hide it and Dean thought it was best to pretend he did not see the smile at all. The boy turned slightly pink around the ears before asking in a hushed whisper, “Did… did… you look at it?”

“Er,” Dean realised that the boy was not too comfortable with anyone looking at his drawings, but he knew that there was no use trying to pretend he did not look at it when he was quite sure the boy knew he looked at it. “Er,” Dean repeated, “I did… it’s really good, you’ve got some talent in there.” He knew he was never really good with praises, but he tried his best.

“Th-thanks,” the boy muttered before quickly whisking away to his spot under the tree, taking every effort to avoid looking at Dean again.  Dean watched him sketch away furiously at another piece of paper and told himself to look away but could not help but admire the boy’s talent and skill. He noticed how the boy kept his eyes on the paper and nothing else and how his hands flew across the paper. When he suddenly looked up a few seconds later to accidentally catch Dean looking at him, the boy quickly looked back down and started attacking the paper he was holding on to. Dean decided it was best to just walk away and leave him alone. He finally reached his Impala and opened the boot to retrieve two packets of potato chips before walking towards Sam and Barry, reminding himself to avoid looking at still busily drawing boy, as much as he wanted to, in case he accidentally gives him a panic attack.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a heart-to-heart conversation with Sam about the boy in the park who just could not seem to leave his mind.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that time does pass unnaturally quickly when one is having fun, or is at least under the notion that he is having fun. It was not that the Winchesters were having the time of their lives, or spending every second of their summer vacation doing things which were deemed as fun, but time did pass very quickly. When he was sitting on the chair by the window of the second motel they were staying in over the summer, looking out at the kids he thought were having real fun, Dean Winchester realised that it had been almost a month, or at least a little over three weeks since he had seen artist boy at the park. He never had the opportunity to chance upon him again and so he never knew his name, and thought it will be best to refer to him as artist boy for the time being. He thought it was all very strange because being constantly on the move along with his brother, Dean always had had people cross his path, but he forgot their faces the very next day. The boy he saw at the park, however, was different, and Dean was still trying to understand why but could not find any logical explanation. At first he thought it was just a passing infatuation because he had always been intrigued by people with artistic minds, but the boy had been haunting his dreams every night now and Dean knew that it must certainly mean something.

He got up from the chair and stretched his hands, realising that he had been sitting by the window and thinking about artist boy for at least an hour that morning. There was something about the boy, he told himself, there _had_ to be something about him that he was unable to let go of. Dean had told himself many times over that he should not be overly attached to anyone because of the situation he was in and just a few weeks ago, he had tried to make Sam understand the situation as well. He never knew that he would find _himself_ in such a situation, especially not because of someone he chanced upon and hardly had a conversation with. The more he thought about how ridiculous he was in suddenly thinking so much about a person whom he had hardly spoken to, the more he became angry with himself. He had tried his best to avoid such a situation, trying not to get himself involved in any long term relationship, which was why he never asked Amanda for her number when he was seeing her. But now, artist boy from the park had taken over his mind and Dean was ready to do anything to get him back out.

The plan for the day was to visit the neighbourhood library because Sam would not stop bugging him for new books to read and since Dean did not have any plans of his own, he decided to agree. And besides, he was definitely happy to be spending a day in the air-conditioned library to get away from the blistering summer heat. Sam was already dressed up and waiting at the door, with an empty medium sized bag handing from his hand and a sweater from the other. “Dean,” his brother called him, waking him up from yet another reverie about artist boy, “can we go now?”

“Yes,” Dean replied, rubbing his face with his hands to bring himself back to the motel room, “sure, Sammy. Get in the car.”

Sam seemed to have noticed Dean’s strange behaviour that morning and questioned if he was alright. “Yep,” Dean nodded, “I’m good. Just a little knocked out cos the sheets are too crappy.”

“Mine were okay. Sorry Dean.”

“S’okay Sammy. Come on, we’ve got a library to raid!” Dean struck a pose resembling a pirate with a sword and Sam burst out laughing.

“You’re getting weirder by the day…”

“Well,” Dean shrugged, “you like pirates, don’t you?”

“Yes, but…”

“Ahoy, Winchester!” Dean put on his best impression of a pirate and Sam had to make sure he did not hurt himself from all the laughing.

“Stop it, Dean. I want to learn magic now.”

Dean stopped in his tracks. “Magic? As in abracadabra kind of magic?”

“I want to be the next David Copperfield.”

“David Copperfield?”

“You don’t know David Copperfield?” Sam looked genuinely surprised at his brother’s lack of knowledge.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean shrugged, “magicians aren’t my kinda thing.”

“I’ll tell you about him later.”

“Okay,” Dean smiled as he stepped into the Impala and turned on the engine. He was driving for a while in silence as Sam was too busy looking out of the window, lost in his own thoughts. “Want a song, Sammy?” Dean asked.

Sam looked at him and nodded and Dean turned the radio on, and the song that was playing sounded familiar and Dean tried to guess what it was before the chorus came on. Dean took his foot away from the accelerator and allowed the speed of the car to decrease as the following words spilled out of the radio,

_Goodbye stranger it’s been nice_

_Hope you find your paradise_

_Tried to see your point of view_

_Hope your dreams will all come true_

Dean allowed himself to drift away once again to the park where he first saw artist boy. Everything seemed to have been slowed down and no one seemed to be moving except for himself and the boy. It was exactly as it had happened, Dean had left Sam and Barry standing by the tree and had gone too fetch the bag chips from his car, nearly slipped on the piece of paper that had been blown away by the sudden wind, picked it up to see the smudged sketch of a ballerina in pointe, heard the voice behind him and turned around to find himself looking into the brilliant blue eyes of artist boy. Dean had lost count of how many times he had revisited the park in his dreams ever since that day, and had always been frustrated and angry at himself. But today, in the Impala, with the song playing from the radio, it felt different. Dean had deliberately allowed himself to visit the park again in his mind and he allowed the blue eyes of the boy to linger in his mind’s eye long after the moment was over. It was all very strange to Dean, that he was, for some reason, unable to bid goodbye to this fascinating stranger.

“You sure you’re okay, Dean?” Sam touched his hand, and Dean pressed hard on the brake, bringing the car to a sudden halt by the side of the road. “Whoa, Dean, you’re _not_ okay!”

“No, no,” Dean muttered, “I’m fine… Just tired, Sammy…”

“You drove past the library.”

“Dammit,” Dean slammed the steering wheel. “Sorry, Sammy…”

“Dean… if there’s something that’s… uh… bothering you… tell me…. I’ll listen.”

Dean hesitated for a while, tapping on the steering wheel and looking into his own eyes reflected on the rear view mirror. _Crap,_ he told himself, _you didn’t adjust the mirror._ There was no use hiding anything anymore, he knew that Sam was too intelligent to not tell he was not feeling okay. Sam might even have something helpful to offer as he did often. He took a deep breath and said, “I’ll tell you later, okay?”

Sam nodded and Dean had to drive down the road before turning back to head towards the library. His mind was still too filled with artist boy and he was glad he could finally let someone know of his predicament. He looked at his brother and felt warmth fill his heart. He was proud of Sam, so proud of him and he was proud of everything Sam was doing and was planning to do. He was proud of Sam’s excellence in school and was confident that his brother had a bright future ahead of him.  A part of him still wanted to cuddle the five year old Sam Winchester and tell him bedtime stories, and another was happy that Sam was now able to understand the problems he was facing and gave solutions even without him asking for anything. Dean made it a point not to let Sam know of any troubles he was facing because he thought Sam was too young to know that the elder brother he looked up to as a hero was not as perfect as he thought he was. He wanted Sam to be happy and have a free mind that allowed him to pursue his dreams, not to be drowning in his sorrows he is now going to selfishly share with him. Dean was angry at himself again and thought it was best to tone down his anxiety before telling anything to Sam.

“So, Dean,” Sam said just as they stepped out of the car, “what is it that’s bothering you?”

“Er, Sammy, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, go on.” They walked towards a bench that was located under a tree just outside the library building.

“How did you and Barry become friends?” Dean asked as they sat down on the bench together.

“Well,” Sam began, “I sat next to him in class and well, he said hi.”

“Oh, good,” Dean nodded, “go on.”

“And then I saw that…. that… everyone was so mean to him… and I stood up for him…”

“That’s my good little brother.” Dean patted Sam on his back.

“Dean,” Sam said, “I don’t think that’s what you wanted to tell me…”

“Sammy…” Dean bit his bottom lip, “remember the day we went to the park?”

“It’s not too long ago, Dean,” Sam smiled, “what ‘bout it?”

“You see,” Dean tapped his fingers on his knee, “oh, nevermind, Sammy, it’s stupid.”

“Dean,” Sam looked at him straight in the eye, “remember how you told us we shouldn’t be hiding anything from each other? Well, Dean, tell me what’s on your mind. Give yourself a break.”

“Okay,” Dean cleared his throat, “it’s just this boy I saw that day… I know nothing ’bout him…. Not his name, nothing… but I can’t seem to stop thinking ‘bout him…. It’s stupid, I know…” Dean shrugged, “but you’re the one who asked for it.”

“Oh,” Sam smiled, “that happens sometimes. Tell me more.”

“More? What more do you wanna know?”

“I dunno, maybe some more details?” Sam hesitated before continuing, “Like what about that boy that makes him hard to forget?”

Dean laughed nervously before gathering himself together to continue. “Nothing, Sammy… Well, maybe cos he draws ballerinas.”

Sam laughed. “Since when did you like ballet?”

Dean did not stop himself from laughing this time. “Ballet is too out there for me…. No, what I’m sayin’ is, how many boys draw ballerinas?”

“Er….” Sam thought for a while, “I don’t know, Dean… but I want to tell you something.”

“Go on.” Dean waited.

“You see,” Sam turned around to face him, “in life, you’ll always meet people….”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, “I’m pretty sure of that… I’m not meeting demons or something…”

“Shut up Dean,” Sam sounded agitated, “just listen.”

“Okay, sorry…. Go on.”

“Look, we always meet people… It’s like everywhere we go, people always cross our paths…. It’s… It’s like we’re on a road a trip or something…. And people walk by….” Sam stopped to ensure Dean was listening and continued after Dean nodded, “They are passers-by…. Most of the time, we… forget these people, but sometimes… they stay with us. Maybe,” said Sam, “maybe this boy is like them… maybe he’s different in a way… that’s why you remember him.”

Dean nodded and was in deep thought for a few moments. Perhaps Sam was right, but it was surely not normal for him to have thought about artist boy for such a long time if he was just another passer-by. Surely he was something more than that? _Or_ , Dean thought to himself, _am I losing it?_ “But Sammy,” he asked, “this… boy… I’ve been thinking ‘bout him for almost a month now… I know it’s crazy but I’m just telling you this, Sammy….”

“Er….” Sam started, “well, if this boy is really someone who is needed in your life, he’s… sure to make a comeback sometime later…. That’s what destiny’s about, Dean. There are just some people who will keep appearing in your life because they _need_ to be in it. Maybe, Dean, maybe if this boy is someone you have to end up knowing, he’ll come again and you’ll see him again. If not…”

“If not?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“He’s just another passer-by, though an interesting one.” Sam smiled.

“Just another passer-by, huh?” Dean nodded.

_Just another passer-by._

Those words were his greatest take away from that morning and Dean tried to convince himself that that was what the boy was, _just another passer-by._ There was no need for Dean to dwell on artist boy any longer because he knew that there was no way he would actually see him again. There was no chance of him going to the park again and seeing the boy sitting under that tree, drawing his ballerinas on paper. He was quite sure he had frightened the wits out of the boy that day though as far as he could remember, he could not recall himself doing _anything_ to frighten him. The boy was trying his best to avoid him that day, clearly embarrassed that he had looked at his drawing, and that cancelled any chances of Dean even speaking to him should he, by any chance, see him again. _He’s just another passer-by,_ Dean reminded himself, _there’s no use thinking so much about him._ But, Dean knew that deep within him, there was something that was holding on to this boy, something that refused to bid goodbye to this stranger and acknowledge him as _just another passer-by._

 

 

 

 


End file.
